


Gone Daddy Gone

by Powerfulweak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, College Age!Dean, Daddy Kink, M/M, Record store au, Rimming, Rocker!Cain, bottom!Dean, top!Cain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 10:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6902668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Powerfulweak/pseuds/Powerfulweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cain knows not to flirt with the cute college boys that stop by the record store, but one particularly-cute, green eyed kid makes him consider breaking his own rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Daddy Gone

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my WIP pile for months and I finally got around to finishing it.

Cain feels like a dirty old man. Not that he’s old, really. 33 is  _ not  _ old, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself. Roger Daltrey and Pete Townsend still rock. Mick Jagger and Keith Richards fill stadiums and they’re like what?... 80? 

33 is pretty old, though, if you’re talking about ogling the college kids who come by the record shop in between classes.

Specifically, one kid.

His name is Dean. He started coming by the shop about eight months ago. Cain noticed him the first time he entered the shop; he was a cute kid, but cute college boys are a dime a dozen around here. What really caught Cain’s attention was the way his eyes went wide when he saw the rows and rows of milk crates and boxes filled with both new and vintage vinyl. 

The kids was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he pushed a six-inch high stack of records across the counter. As he sifted through them, Cain was pleasantly surprised to see bands like Creedence, Sabbath, AC/DC and a rare Little Feet that he didn’t even know they had. He looked up at the kid curiously; Cain wouldn’t have pegged him for a classic type of guy. With the thick-framed glasses and oversized flannel shirt, he looked like the kind of guy that should be into those God-awful hipster bands that his day manager Abbie insists on playing.

The kid rambled for a few minutes, gushing about the selection. As he rung him up, Cain took the opportunity to admire this boy. He still had that baby fat look to his face and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He was animated in the way he spoke and his eyes went wide as he talked about his “Epic Zep Collection.” Cain just smiled and nodded with an agreeable hum. He brushed his thumb over the raised letters on the credit card as he handed it back over the counter. 

_ Dean _ ; He looked like a Dean,  _ alright _ . 

Dean becomes something of a regular after that. He stops in a couple times a week, shuffling through the crates of vinyl and talking Cain’s ear off about some band he just discovered or asking for recommendations. None of this does anything to tamp down Cain’s growing crush on the kid. He has to constantly remind the logical part of his brain to back the fuck down. Dean is dangerous, he’s forbidden fruit.

The worst part about it is that Dean is damn well aware of his influence on him.

The lip biting, the shy smiles, the way he makes sure their fingers brush whenever Cain hands back his credit card- Dean knows exactly what the hell he’s doing and he enjoys the teasing. Sometimes, when Cain’s sorting and restocking records, Dean sidles up next to him with some random question, pressing in a little too closely as he does.

It’s enough to drive a rational man crazy. He knows he shouldn’t be fantasizing about customers (especially not twinky, freckle-faced, undergrad customers), but he can’t seem to quiet the animal part of his brain telling him that Dean is just begging for a good hard fucking and Cain is just the man to give it to him. 

Cain just wishes he wasn’t exactly that- a kid.

* * *

 

“So, my friend’s band is having a show next week,” Dean pipes up one afternoon, standing next to Cain and lazily flipping through the albums. Cain pauses, his pen stopping mid-numeral on his inventory sheet as Dean reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a wrinkled, photocopied flyer. Cain takes it automatically, looking at the hastily designed “Battle of the Bands” logo. 

“You should come,” Dean says, nudging his shoulder. Cain shuts his eyes and groans inwardly; he needs to nip this in the bud right now before it gets anymore out of hand. 

“I’m not sure if I can get away from the shop that night,” he lies and then, as an afterthought, adds. “You and your girlfriend will have a good time, I’m sure.” Dean flashes him a questioning look.

“Girlfriend? What Girlfriend?”

“That redhead girl you’re always with,” Cain replies, pointing at his own tied back hair in demonstration. Dean has brought a few friends by the shop before, but most often a peppy ginger girl who practically screamed when she discovered an original copy of Katrina and the Waves.

“Charlie? Really?” Dean gives an incredulous chuckle. “No, man, Charlie’s  _ not  _ my girlfriend… Uh, I’m not really her type, if you catch my drift.” Cain nods in understanding, trying to hold back a pleased smile at this fact.

“And she’s not really mine, either,” he adds with a coy smile. Cain knows he shouldn’t, but the words seem to tumble out of his mouth automatically.

“What… is your type, then?” he asks. 

Dean shrugs weakly. “Hmm… you know, tall, strong, silent type,” he replies, looking up at Cain through his lashes. “A little bit older… tattoos.” Dean’s hand trails up over the dark ink covering Cain’s forearm. Cain pulls back from his touch.

“Dean,” he says in warning, meeting Dean’s gaze. After months of this little shit’s flirting and teasing, Cain can’t take much more; he is only a man, after all, and right now he is at his limit. 

“C’mon,” Dean leans in close, whispering in Cain’s ear. “No one’s in here. We have the place all to ourselves…” Cain takes a quick look around. He’s right; the store is empty. He looks back at Dean, a pink tongue shyly darting out between his teeth. 

Cain faces him with a stoic expression. “How old are you?” he asks. 

“22,” Dean answers. Cain raises a dubious brow. “20.” It’s not quite as bad as he thought, but it still doesn’t feel entirely kosher. He takes a step closer to Dean.

“You don’t tell a soul... understand?” he says lowly. Dean swallows hard and nods, his mask of confidence breaking for a moment. Cain points in the direction of the back room. “Go.” Dean hesitates, but then turns and retreats toward the back. Cain hurries to the front door, flipping the “Will return is a few minutes” sign and setting it for an hour.

He slows as he reaches the doorway to the employee lounge. Dean waits in the center of the room, admiring in the posters and concert flyers tacked to the walls. The door shuts behind Cain and Dean glances back at the sound. He still has that tender, unmarked look that Cain both wants to preserve and absolutely decimate. 

He comes up behind Dean, resting his hand on his hips. He nudges away the fabric of Dean’s collar, exposing the skin of his neck and pressing his lips to it. Dean’s head falls to the side, giving Cain more room. 

“You beard tickles,” he says with a quiet laugh. Cain gives a soft “hmm”, his hands running up and down Dean’s sides before tugging off his flannel and tossing it onto the couch. Dean turns around, facing Cain and kissing him enthusiastically. Cain closes the space between them as he winds his arms around Dean and pulls him close. He inhales sharply as Dean pushes his hips forward, grinding his already hardening cock against Cain’s.

He runs one hand up the back of Dean’s t-shirt while the other dips beneath the the top of his jeans and into his boxers. Dean’s breath shudders as Cain runs a single finger along the cleft of his ass. 

“Tease,” he murmurs against Cain’s lips.

“You are one to fucking talk,” he chides. Dean takes the opportunity to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the side, exposing a spray of light brown freckles over his chest and shoulders. 

“How do you want me?” he murmurs against Cain’s lips. Cain brushes a hand along Dean’s jaw and flashes a sly smile.

“Get on the couch,” he orders gently. “On your knees, facing backward.” Dean does as he is told, kneeling in the center of the couch.

“Now what?” Cain comes up behind him, positioning his hands on the back of the couch. 

“Don’t move those,” he says as he jerks Dean’s belt open and unbuttons his pants. Dean stays like a statue as Cain drags his jeans and boxers down to mid thigh, his cock bobbing free. He kneels behind Dean reverently, spreading his ass apart and diving in.

Dean cries out, his back arching at the first lap of Cain’s tongue over his hole. Cain’s takes slow, deliberate licks, flattening his tongue over Dean’s tight pucker as he digs his fingers into the meat of Dean's ass.

“Oh fuck,” Dean groans as Cain drags his tongue up. 

“Does my beard still tickle?’ Cain jokes. Dean only responds with a choked laugh which becomes a moan as the tip of Cain’s tongue circles his hole. He presses into Dean experimentally, his thighs quivering in response.

“Holy shit, oh fuck, fuck,” Dean babbles. He shifts on his knees and, out of the corner of his eye, Cain notices movement. He assumes it’s Dean trying to jerk himself off and he delivers a sharp slap to his ass in response.

“Hands down,” he reprimands. Dean mumbles a “sorry” and retakes his position as Cain continues licking and probing Dean’s hole. After a thought, he pops a finger into his mouth, coating it in saliva, and pulling it out again.

Dean lets out an inhuman noise as Cain presses a spit-slick finger into him along with his tongue. His whole body writhes and tenses and a filthy stream of encouragements pours from his mouth.

Cain stops abruptly and stands up. Dean glances behind him, gasping and giving Cain a questioning look.

“One moment,” he says, holding up a single finger. “Stay there.” Cain rushes into the office, tearing through the drawers for his emergency stash of lube and protection. He manages to find a single condom and a half-empty tube; it’s not a lot, but it’s what he needs. 

Dean is right where he left him, half bent over the couch, his cock still red and firm in front of him

“Sorry for the the interruption,” Cain says, pulling his own shirt up over his head and letting it fall to the ground. “Needed supplies.” He rubs a hand up and down Dean’s back and presses a kiss to his shoulder. Dean looks, his expression desperate.

“Need you,” he begs, the words traveling straight to Cain’s cock. He moves behind Dean once more, grabbing at his jaw and twisting him into an enthusiastic kiss. Cain tears at his fly, pulling his cock out and pressing it teasingly along Dean’s ass.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he says. He clicks open the tube and squirts a glob of lube onto his fingers. Dean’s hole is already stretched and wet from his tongue, but he doesn’t want to take any chances. He slips two fingers into Dean’s hole, loving the way his breathing grows more rapid as he starts to work him open. He presses in close to Dean, rubbing his dick against Dean’s thigh as he mouths over Dean’s neck and shoulder.

“Oh  _ fuck fuck fuck _ ,” Dean shouts when Cain crooks his fingers and presses against his prostate. “Fuck me please.” Cain groans and grabs at the base of his aching cock, hoping to stave off his orgasm a little longer. 

“One more,” Cain says along the shell of Dean’s ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and clamping down. He adds a third finger, scissoring Dean open until he thinks he’s ready.

He picks up the condom, tearing open the packet with his teeth and awkwardly rolling it onto his dick with his free hand. He squirts out another glob of lube and slicks himself up as he lines himself up with Dean’s hole. 

Smoothing a hand over Dean’s hip, Cain pulls him backward as he pushes in. Dean’s back bows and he lets out a long drawn out moan as Cain sheaths himself. Cain gives him a moment to adjust and a circles an arm around his torso, pulling him closer.

“That’s it,” Dean goads as Cain begins to move. “That’s what I want.” Cain turns Dean’s head to face him, silencing him with a fierce kiss. 

“Fuck me harder,” Dean begs against his lips. Cain huffs, reaching across Dean’s chest and pinching a nipple painfully.

“I’ll fuck you as hard as I feel like,” he snarls as he slams into Dean.

“Please.” Dean looks at him with those intense, green eyes. “Please, Daddy. Please fuck me harder.” Cain’s mouth goes absolutely dry when he hears those words. 

“What did you say?” he asks.

“Fuck your boy harder, Daddy,” Dean answers, punctuating it by running his tongue along his lips. Cain releases a shaky breath and pulls Dean into another kiss. He fucks into him wildly, every snap of his hips punching a cry out of Dean.

“You’re just a filthy little tease, aren’t you baby?” Cain growls in his ear as he reaches around and takes Dean’s cock in hand, beginning to stroke. “Just a fucking little cocktease.”

“Yes!” Dean whimpers, his head falling backward.

“Yes, what?” Cain demands, gnawing along the bolt of his jaw.

“Yes, Daddy,” Dean shouts. A tightness builds in Cain’s gut and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s coming into Dean with a groan. He presses his forehead between Dean’s shoulders as his orgasmn washes over him.

“Ah, fuck yes, make me come,” Dean mutters as Cain continues to work his fist over his cock. A few more strokes and he feels Dean tense beneath him and shoot his load over Cain’s hand. 

Dean collapses forward onto the couch, draping himself over the back. Cain pulls out, removing the condom and tying it off before tossing it in a nearby trashcan. He reaches down and grabs his shirt off the ground, wiping off his hand and throwing the shirt to the side once more before tugging at his jeans and tucking himself back inside. 

“Holy shit,” Dean groans, his words muffled by his arms pressed to his face. He rolls over onto his back and smiles up dazedly at Cain as he pulls his own pants back on. Cain offers him a warm grin. He sets a knee between Dean’s legs and crawls over him; Dean’s fingers drift over his chest. 

“Awesome,” he murmurs in awe, as he tracks along the dark lines of his tattoos. Cain leans down, kissing Dean tenderly as his weight settles on top of him.

“Glad you like them,” he says.

“Hell yeah, I do.” Dean looks up through his eyelashes with an evil glint. “Ready for round two?” Cain belts out a genuine laugh and huddles down next to Dean on the couch, slipping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his chest. 

“You’ll have to give me a little longer, junior,” Cain teases, mussing Dean’s hair. “You’re getting quality over quantity here.” Dean gives an affectionate eyeroll.

“Yeah, yeah, old man.” 

Cain lifts his head up and raises a brow. “What was that?” Dean bites at his lip.

“Yes, Daddy,” he says quietly.

“That’s better,” Cain says, as he drags Dean in for another kiss. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
